Unfair
by Malty
Summary: Ianto is injured on a field mission and he's not recovering as fast as he'd like. Mainly Jack/Ianto, bit of team friendship.. More angsty than fluffy but not really either - see what you make of it. Completed.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N:** Hello and thanks for clicking! So I got this idea in my head yesterday and it cried out to be written before I'm cruelly torn away from the internet for the rest of the week. It was originally going to be a lot shorter but I just kept writing, as such it's a little meandering but I hope you feel it was worth it.

As always I feel the need to point out my relative newbie status to the world of Torchwood, I think my lack of knowledge of the geography of Jack's office really shines through here! And if anyone is reading my TW story, 'Open Bar', I swear I will update soon, just as soon as I can face the thought of a bar again in fact. And if you're not reading it, why not? (No come back! Stay and read, I'm not actually that cocky!)

**Disclaimer;** I own nothing in this story, and not much more outside of it.

**Summary;** Sometimes in Torchwood you're injured saving the world. Sometimes you're just in the wrong place at the wrong time. All seems rather unfair.

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It was otherwise a successful mission, at least from what he'd been told. Typical alien threat, the world, or more accurately in that moment Cardiff at stake. The team had cornered it in what he pictured as a very dramatic moment, not being able to visualise the physical alien itself as it had reportedly evaporated into cobalt blue smoke when Owen shot it, and dissipated through the wet bricks leaving no body behind. Ianto had been there for that part, which was precisely why he couldn't remember, because just as they had thought that was the end of it the smoke had reacted with the damp in the walls, causing the bricks to shake and dislodge with what had appeared in his dreams as a low and sickening rumble. And before Gwen could finish voicing what a great idea it would be to get out, the building had collapsed around them, solid bricks blowing out of place as if forced by explosions. 

Or that was how he imagined it, given the damage it had done to him.

Frankly, he could have done without all the imagining. At first he'd felt so utterly lost, and while he wouldn't admit it, a little frightened by the fact that he couldn't remember what had happened, only strange and meaningless flashes. A scream here, rubble there..

It still unsettled him. However, had he known that the constant retellings would mix with his own murky recollections to create a vague, dreamlike picture where he couldn't place what were genuine memories and what he'd filled in, he might not have been quite so desperate to piece it together. Because now he couldn't forget.

It was by no means the most horrific thing that had happened to him in his time at Torchwood. If he hadn't been injured it would have barely registered as an event. It was sheer chance that things had played out as they did; The others had recounted to him how Tosh had been hit by the flying bricks and her leg injured, Ianto had been closest and shoved her out of the way when a beam from the ceiling swung loose, (a fact he was secretly proud of). Apparently they'd barely made it two steps before he'd been struck across the head so hard he blacked out instantly, completely defenseless as the ceiling had caved in right where they were standing. If it weren't for the exact angle the beams had fallen, shielding them from the bulk of the wreckage, he and Tosh would almost certainly be dead. 

The rest of the team had managed to get them out before the building had imploded completely, themselves uninjured. Tosh was still conscious, her leg the only problem. Ianto was a different story.

That was just the way it went.

He didn't like to dwell on the details of just how badly it could have gone, or indeed how badly it had. He was back at work, thoroughly beaten, bound up and bandaged under his suit on the agreement that he didn't go on field missions until he was healed, and he worked reduced hours, (which seeing as he practically invented overtime took him down to everybody else's level). He'd been glad just to return, as the few days he'd spent away he'd been going crazy with nothing to occupy him. It had been a week and a half, and he was truly tired of feeling injured. Every second he spent thinking about how it happened was just dragging it out, reminding him of the pain. But then every second he spent without something to do he become acutely aware of the pain, leading him straight back to thinking of how it happened. Short of leaving his body, he was stuck.

Of course his escape could have been achieved with considerably greater ease had another member of the team filled in the paperwork. He had no memory of the night after they had first entered the building, so of course he was the natural choice to write the report. Unbelievable.

_Actually_, he had a sneaking suspicion that Owen had tried, as he'd found a half-written attempt in his scratchy handwriting littering his desk, blitzed with mistakes and crossed-out sentences.

He guessed Owen's secret-niceness only went up to a point.

The cynical part of him said Owen was only doing it to stop Ianto reliving it, in turn saving Owen from setting up counselling. The side of him that saw optimism argued that sweetness didn't come naturally to Owen, and his willingness to even try gave him a distinct feeling of bemused affection. The side that won depended on how much pain he was in at that moment, and how high a dose of painkillers he was on respectively.

It wasn't just the continual aching that was driving him nuts either; it was the exhaustion. He felt tired all the time, and not just lack-of-sleep tired, but the kind where every single bone and muscle got involved. That was how he currently came to be lying on the sofa in Jack's office, half-aware that there was paperwork stuck to the side of his face as he dozed. He wasn't sure how long he'd been there but he knew no one would bother him, and so he didn't care to make himself presentable. He was barely speaking to the others, and it wasn't as they thought that he was erratic and traumatised; he simply couldn't keep up with conversation for more than a few hours a day. Depending on when they saw him in his medication cycle he was either his usual Ianto self, or he was the basics version which came with decidedly fewer functions.

He also saw them less as they weren't asking him for drinks anymore. He'd overheard Tosh asking the others not to bother him with requests which had made him smile. He wasn't completely out of commission, but it was good of her to look out for him. He hadn't been this weak on the job since the cannibals had laid into him. He'd saved her then too.

Saving Tosh never seemed to end well for him.

'How are you feeling?'

He jolted at hearing the voice, eyes opening. Jack had walked in, arms crossed, choosing to ignore the totally unprofessional manner in which he found his colleague.

Ianto sat upright as quickly as he could, which wasn't very quickly at all, pulling away from the paperwork and clearing his throat to answer in as polite a manner as he could manage.

'A lot better thanks. Should be archiving in no time.'

Jack eyed him for a second, standing in the doorway, before walking towards him and taking his braces off his shoulders as he did, his way of showing he was no longer there as his boss. He settled on the sofa next to Ianto.

'Okay. So how are you really feeling?'

'I think this is what a coma feels like,' Ianto replied just as politely, falling back into the sofa as he did so. Jack laughed and put an arm around him, pulling him into his lap so he was lying down again. 

After a few moments Ianto became aware of Jack's fingers moving gently through his hair, and he knew he would be dreaming again soon. He closed his eyes and let Jack's even breathing lull him away from the deep aching in his body, to that weightless place between consciousness and sleep. Every night when he drifted off he expected he would wake up feeling better, feeling like he was _getting better_. 

Every morning he became a little bit more aware that he wasn't. It was going to take a lot longer to recover than he thought, and he didn't even remember what had done this to him. 

A week and a half after it happened, and it was now that he spoke with eyes closed.

'Jack?'

'Ianto', hecould hear the smile in his voice, hands still threading through his hair.

Ianto hesitated for a moment, his ownvoice distant.

'..I'm not coming straight back from this, am I?'

Jack leaned back into the sofa and settled in for the night as he felt Ianto drift off into his restless dreams once again.

'You don't have to.' 

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**A/N;** Thanks for reading! It's truly appreciated, as is feedback. BTW, I like to think that Jack told Owen to leave Ianto paperwork to do so he could still feel useful. Even though it's my story and I technically control it.. Hey, I'm lazy.


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N;** I watched Fragments, and all I could think was, 'Holy crap, I write it and it happens!' And so; henceforth, I am completely out of debt.

Give it a week.

I wrote this as a oneshot and was totally caught by surprise by the response, (you guys each separately rule). I went back and forth over whether to write more for fear of what I could actually add, and then eventually figured I should just get the hell over it. There's some Jack POV here so the tone is less hazy, I considered chunking it into chapters but screw it; here it is in all its sprawling glory.

This one goes out to Vera, as she's a sweetie. And she asked.

**Summary;** I guess the first chapter was a look at the effect on Ianto, this is more of a Jack/Ianto focus.

* * *

Jack had never realised just how much he hadn't missed writing reports until Ianto wasn't around to do them all. Now sitting at his desk for what felt like the hundredth hour, he didn't know what was more depressing; the mountain of paperwork before him, or the mountain of used pens behind. It just never seemed to end.

It was slightly too early to justify quitting, and if the last few days were anything to go by Ianto would be asleep anyway. He was under orders to check in on him for at least an hour a day. Any less, Owen said, and they wouldn't get a clear enough picture of his recovery. It had to be an in-house call too, because during the working day they were– well, they were busy working.

Or that was the version he told Gwen and Tosh. In the footnotes it was technically Owen supposed to be looking in on him in that time, being the resident doctor and all, but that had gotten completely out of hand with alarming speed; the twos general sniping was either exacerbated by the short fuse Ianto was on and Owen's irritation at working out-of-hours, or it was so one-sided on account of Ianto's sedation that it wasn't even fair. Though Jack had to admit there was a certain poetry in watching Owen think he had won an argument only to realise Ianto had in fact fallen asleep. He'd wondered once or twice if Ianto timed it, as he always seemed to drop off at exactly the right moment to convey maximum disdain.

He rethought that sentiment whenever things got rough. It had been 3 and a half weeks since Ianto was injured, and the best that could be said was he was on the mend. His body seemed to have adjusted to the medication, so he wasn't quite as spaced out as he had been to begin with, able to stay lucid for longer periods of time before he needed more painkillers. His improvement was probably aided by the reduced workload, or should that be the_ reduced,_ reduced workload. Owen had warned Jack from the start that simply missing out field missions wasn't going to cut it, but Jack had remained adamant that it should be Ianto's decision if he wanted a lighter workload. He knew he liked to stay occupied, and had no desire to be the one to take that away from him while he was down. Of course he wanted Ianto to recover as fast as possible and rest was the way to do that, but he wasn't a hindrance to the team as he was and if he really couldn't handle it, Jack had explained to Owen, then he could simply tell them using his words. He was hurt, not stupid.

Taking over Ianto-watch had in a small way been an apology.

He hadn't actually intended to get so heated about it, but joining forces with Owen to care for Ianto was blurring more boundaries than he could count. He couldn't even claim to be the second-highest effected by the situation, given that poor Tosh was still hobbling slightly, but nonetheless it was wearing him down. If anything it made it even harder to see where he stood in the list, as it fell to him to make sure morale wasn't too far skewed. It was times like this he was thankful for Gwen, who seemed to have taken it upon herself to bounce into work each day with enough vigour for all five of them.

The fact that her presence was all that stopped the (barely), walking wounded from accounting for a full fifty per cent of the team only partially informed his gratitude.

Everybody's work had increased. Midway through the second week Ianto had come to Jack and very calmly informed him that he was going to cut down, as he couldn't perform his job to the best of his ability. He'd be better off getting more rest so he could recover faster, (and here Jack had wondered if Owen had paid him off).

It sounded calm, but it looked like it was the hardest thing he'd ever had to say. Jack had noticed that his reports were pretty much devoid of sense, and was relieved that he didn't have to bring it up himself. He knew Ianto liked to keep busy and he wanted to ease his recovery, but he wasn't going to patronise him by allowing him to do work that would just need to be redone anyway. He'd only find out when he was better, and in the meantime it would cause the others to pick up the slack and tiptoe around him. He wouldn't like that. Jack was actually glad Owen was still winding him up, because if he wasn't then Ianto would know that something was really wrong.

Despite the pressure it placed on the rest of them Jack had actually been impressed by his decision, (not that he wouldn't forget this fact every time he realised how short-staffed they were without him). If he reflected on it too long he concluded that on some level Ianto wasn't really past what had led him to Torchwood, and he wondered if he even knew himself at what point his value as a hard-worker had stopped being subterfuge and become the standard by which he judged himself. Deep down, he still felt his worth here was seen in his job, and not in him. That was why Jack was so pleased he'd come to him; he didn't think he would have a year ago, and it made him realise just how far they'd progressed in that time.

He knew the things he was thinking of Ianto weren't usually at play in their everyday lives, this kind of doubt only surfaced when you were continually driven down the way Ianto, (sadly), currently was. In the meantime he could only hope that the fact everyone cared about his recovery would continue to show him that he wasn't the same person he had been when all this began.

Of course that was the other reason Jack had taken over. He was basically on the job 24/7 anyway, making Ianto part of his hours. Not that he thought of Ianto as a chore, far from it, but otherwise Owen got to see him in all the times of day that he was together, and it just didn't seem fair when he didn't appreciate it.

Figuring he hadn't actually got any work done for an hour now Jack grabbed his coat and made for the SUV. If he was just going to be thinking about Ianto anyway, he might as well see him at the same time.

* * *

'Hey you're up!'

Ianto winced, 'Hey, you're loud.'

'Sorry. ' Jack lowered his voice and stepped inside. 'Headache?'

'No, neighbours.' Ianto closed the door after him and stood with his hands in his pockets. It took Jack a few seconds to process the significance of that detail; Ianto was dressed. First time in the flat since he could remember.

'Going somewhere?'

'Hmm? Oh, no. Just felt like a change of clothes.'

Ianto looked around as if he'd forgotten what it was people did when they were standing, and then settled on treating Jack as a guest. 'Would you like something to eat?'

It took everything in Jack and then some not to make the obvious entendre, but he declined and made his way over to the kitchen table that had become his unofficial workspace.

Ianto shuffled back over to the sofa and the safety of his quilt, and was soon engrossed in the television again. Jack couldn't say the same for his work, having found over the past few weeks that all the paperwork skills he'd acquired in his years at Torchwood abandoned him the moment he left his desk, (and ever increasingly, _at_ his desk). He'd ended up bringing about half of the reports mainly for show, using it as a cover to steal glances at Ianto. He told himself that was what he was there for after all, and Ianto wouldn't appreciate being openly watched like a child. Besides, it was damn near impossible to work in the low light preferred in the flat nowadays.

Tonight was no different, and he felt an intense sense of deja vu that he attributed partially to the repetitive nature of the situation, and partially to the sense of lethargy that seemed to emanate from Ianto lately, slowly enveloping anyone who watched him for too long.

After a while Jack gave up all pretense of completing his reports, feeling the need to outwardly acknowledge that he wasn't alone.

'You must really like this film.'

Ianto continued to concentrate a little too hard on the TV. 'Hm?'

'Well I know I couldn't watch something two days in a row.'

It was a very subtle shift in position, but Jack saw Ianto freeze up, and it took him a second for realisation to dawn.

'..You don't remember watching it yesterday, I've just set you back another week.' He set his pen down and scrubbed his face with hands. Across from him Ianto sat forward heavily, resting his elbows on his knees and placing his head in his hands. They mirrored each other for a moment before Ianto spoke.

'No Jack, it's not your fault. I just got ahead of myself.'

He sounded so sincere that it was frankly upsetting to hear. The flip side of getting used to his injured state was that moments like this were mounting up, and on occasion the collective impact seemed to physically push him down. Jack couldn't even look at him, feeling utterly unequipped to make him feel better when he had just managed to make him feel worse in the first place.

Ianto's short-term memory had been questionable since the accident, (incident?). He could still do his work, you just had to keep a close on him or else four hours later you'd find him filling in the same report again, completely unaware he'd already done it. When he'd first noticed, Jack thought it might have been an effect of the alien smoke, similar to what he'd named in his head, 'The Adam Mystery'. In a strictly hypothetical conversation, (to save Ianto the experience of becoming a case), he had put this theory to Tosh, who had wondered how they would know if their memories were being played with, as it relied on their remembering in the first place something they could be forgetting. They'd lost an incredibly confusing afternoon to trying to figure out _how_ they could figure it out, when eventually Owen had wondered where everyone was, and on finding them pointed out that not only was the CCTV footage intact but if they were on as many drugs as Ianto they would forget things too.

Jack made a mental note to run ideas past Owen in the future.

In the present he looked up at Ianto, who looked so completely mournful that he couldn't continue the facade of distance he'd been putting on in an effort to act like everything was okay. He left the kitchen and shifted the mass of quilt so he could sit next to him, staring at him as Ianto in turn stared listlessly into the distance. Eventually he leaned into Jack's shoulder, whether seeking comfort or genuinely unable to stay upright anymore Jack didn't know - he just put his arm around his waist and rested his chin on Ianto's head, muttering softly, 'hey', simply because he could.

It was stiflingly hot in Ianto's flat lately. He said it was because whenever he fell asleep he never knew if it was for a few minutes or if he was out for the count. Maybe he even believed that, but he had told Jack that one of the few details he could remember of that night was the cold.

Either way the heat of the room mixed with the warm dark and his own mounting exhaustion from the past few weeks, and it was for this reason that when Ianto inevitably fell asleep in his arms, Jack soon followed.

* * *

Ianto had grown used to waking up when he hadn't even intended on going to sleep. He registered the familiar feeling of confusion, and even slight anger that consciousness had once again slipped from him, and tried to pull the lulling peace of sleep into the waking world with him, as every second his eyes opened a little further and his mind grew clearer. It didn't work, as the frustration seemed to close in harder around him, ringing in his ears like a.. wait, that was the phone ringing. If he hadn't just woken up he might have laughed at that, but as it was he resigned himself to stop using similes first thing. He reached for the phone, noting as he did that he was in the living room, and heard a low groan as he hit something; Jack was asleep. He disentangled himself from the mass of Jack and pillows as carefully as he could, standing up and moving to the phone, missing it on his first attempt and pretty glad Jack wasn't awake to see it.

'Helloo.'

Owen managed to sound like he was frowning through the receiver. 'Ianto I thought I told you to stay in bed.'

Ianto frowned back. 'You do realise this is my phone you called?'

'Actually I was looking for Jack, he's not answering.'

He looked at Jack sleeping on the sofa, reluctant to wake him knowing how infrequent an occurrence it was, especially now he spent his spare time looking after Ianto. 'He's.. indisposed at the moment. Can I help?'

He settled on the arm of the sofa and soon saw it was already too late; Jack was making the unhappy movements of someone forced awake. He looked up questioningly and Ianto mouthed Owen's name by way of explanation. Jack rolled his eyes and took the phone without asking.

'Remind me why I hired you when you seem to go out of your way to disturb your patients?' He stood up as he spoke and started pacing, as was his wont. Ianto leaned back, balancing precariously, unsure what to do next now he was up. His best guess was to get dressed, but when he failed to move he realised it was because he already had. He had a notion he'd gone to sleep out of defeat, as he could sense the lingering feeling that everything wasn't right which he'd grown to associate with the nights when he felt particularly frustrated. Plus the fact that he'd fallen asleep in his clothes, which were now twisted and uncomfortable as a result.

In a strange way though he was glad for it, enjoying the feeling of something unfamiliar. That and the fact that he was focussed on the discomfort from his clothes and not his injuries gave him hope that the end might be in sight, and the lingering feeling all but forgotten he began to think that as great as clothes were, it might be time to change out of them. At some point he'd closed his eyes, and he didn't notice he was swaying until he felt Jack place an arm around on his shoulder to steady him, narrowly preventing him from pitching off the sofa entirely. He encouraged him up, and Ianto turned around in his arms, looping his own around Jack's neck to keep standing. Jack was still talking, which Ianto felt rather than heard, and he found he couldn't pick out any meaning from the deep sound. He must have become heavier in his stance because Jack nudged him and mouthed, 'You okay?' Ianto tried to nod but ended up shaking his head.

'They weren't even in height order.'

Owen voice was left hanging in the flat as Ianto raised his gaze just high enough to see Jack frowning at him, and he replied with a look which he hoped read; 'I have no idea why I just said that either.'

Jack seemed to understand and got a determined look as he said into the phone pointedly, 'No, you cannot talk to him.' Ianto mumbled into his chest, 'I could speak to Owen,' and chose to believe Jack simply didn't hear him when he said goodbye and didn't wait for a reply before throwing the phone in the general direction of soft furniture.

'_You_ are going to bed.'

Ianto heard himself protest something to the tune of, _but I'm always in bed_, but his heart wasn't in it, and as Jack led him into the bedroom he found it was really where he wanted to be.

He was left standing as Jack went back to collect his bedding, and he took the time to reorient, forcing himself to stay awake just long enough that he could fall asleep of his own accord. Jack returned and threw the heap onto the bed, gesturing for him to follow. Ianto raised an eyebrow at him, and tried to sound as innocent as possible. 'It's no fun when you're not in there with me.' He quirked his lip suggestively, purely for show as they both knew he wouldn't be able to stay awake the moment he led down.

Jack gave a similar look in return, seemingly amused to see Ianto flirting again. He moved closer and leaned in, 'Is that a fact?'

Ianto nodded and Jack leaned in further, so close he could feel his breath on his neck, then without warning he pushed Ianto towards the bed, mindful of his injuries but firm enough to catch him off-balance.

'Nice try, but we both know the last thing you could handle right now is me in bed.'

Ianto closed his eyes. 'I handled you on the sofa.'

Jack laughed and threw one final pillow at him, '_Besides_, we both know if Owen found out he'd need to order in extra bandages for what he'd do to me.'

Ianto smiled, and Jack liked to believe it was because of the mental image and not simply because he was so content to be in bed again despite the amount of sleep he'd been getting. He decided that, mood permitting, he'd allude back to this exchange tomorrow and hope to see some recognition, and he smirked at the thought that this was another reason it was better he rather than Owen look out for Ianto.

Within minutes the bedroom was filled with the rhythmic breathing of deep sleep, and seeing that he wouldn't be needed any time soon Jack headed back towards his reports, thinking he really should head back to his desk where he could work properly, and his bed where he couldn't risk disturbing anyone. With each step the focus shifted further on to the bed, culminating so that when he reached the paper-strewn desk he had to actively think to remember what he was supposed to do with it.

He pulled on his coat before dropping into the chair to gather the work together; an action he would come to look at as unfortunate in the morning, as he reflected that between his tired state and the weight of the garment, he'd never stood a chance.

* * *

He awoke to the sound of a pen scratching and thought for a horrible moment he was actually having a nightmare about paperwork. It turned out to be Ianto, awake, dressed, and attempting one of Jack's reports for him, which given his fervent newfound allergy to paperwork was perhaps the most beautiful thing he'd ever seen. Ianto explained he'd let him sleep, and Jack was grateful given how tired he must have been to do it in the first place. He moved to stretch and growled as his muscles protested violently. He hoped that next time Ianto chose to let him sleep it would be somewhere more comfortable than the kitchen table.

Ianto didn't look up but rather spoke nonchalantly as he sipped his coffee. 'You should have taken me up on the offer of a bed.'

Jack looked at him in surprise at the seemingly telepathic insight, and then broke into a smile made all the more significant by the fact that Ianto remembered their conversation. Ianto just smiled back at him and finished his drink, collecting up the reports and encouraging Jack towards the door.

Knowing he would end up back here tonight, Jack thought about Ianto's offer.

Next time, he probably would.

* * *

**A/N; **Thank you for reading, I'd love to hear what you thought. I'm stunned to say that this supposed oneshot is now the longest, (and most aimless), thing I've written. I really tried to make the interaction organic and not too heavy on the sweetness for the sake of it, so I hope that came off.

(I was on the fence over how adept Jack would be at doing the carer thing because it's so hard to see him as the domestic type, but then I think how intensely comforting we've seen him be when shit really goes down, so I figured for something this drawn-out it would be somewhere inbetween, and I'm sorry to over-explain but I just had to write that down!) Feedback appreciated.


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N;** Freedom! It tastes so sweet! And suspiciously like alcohol. Yes my exams are over, sorry to have left it this long before updating but my brain as they say has resembled porridge for over a month now. Thank you to everybody who has reviewed or favourited this story, I love getting feedback, (regardless of when I posted the story), and any form of interest has really made me smile at a time of fiery balls of stress. With spikes on them. So a big thank you. And if you enjoy the story let me know, because as much as I love to be favourited I can't work off of it, tell me what you like and I can try to do more!

Okay brain still mush, emotional love-fest over.

**Disclaimer;** Still applies.

**Summary; **Ianto starts to remember that life before he was injured wasn't exactly a cake-walk either. This chapter is pretty Jack-POV-lite but don't worry the Captain is still around! This is I think less self-contained than the other chapters, and may be **rated T**, (nothing extreme, but forewarned is forearmed ay).

* * *

Ianto woke up as he often did to the sound of alarms, and as he very rarely got to do, he ignored them.

He rolled back over in bed, stubbornly remaining sleepy against the morning light. He sometimes worried what kind of effect these things were having on him in the long-run: Alarms in Torchwood meant serious trouble, and when you'd been there as long as he had you learned to relax every second they weren't blaring. This of itself wasn't a problem, but it just meant he wasn't actually relaxed in the silence at all, rather waiting for the next second to see if he could relax then too. Speed-relaxation. And if they ever did sound he rarely reacted with enough alarm himself, which was fairly counter-productive.

In short, his dislike for alarm clocks was greater rooted than your average. He'd barely bothered with them in the past, being acclimatised to getting up at obscene hours to the point he woke up early automatically. Jack had always liked that, (or so he interpreted), seeing as he possessed no internal alarm clock himself, and rather than waking up to a mechanical alert he preferred Ianto's rather more organic methods.

Ianto had theorised Jack's inability to wake himself stemmed from the fact that he rarely slept in the true sense, meaning that whatever mechanism pulled most people out of it failed to activate, but his theories couldn't develop far when he kept them to himself. Jack wasn't someone you just aired your random thoughts to, not unless they were particularly profound. He'd fallen prey to that trap once or twice before when he was feeling especially out of sorts, and he always felt like he was watching a car crash happen but could do nothing to stop it. Jack was so unmovable, it was like talking to a sober person when you're drunk; you know you'll regret how exposed you were the next day, but it suddenly seems like the most important thing you'll ever have to say. You either have to say nothing at all, or more likely blurt it out even less eloquently than intended, upon which your only option is to initiate such violently intoxicated sex that the other party doesn't remember what you said in the first place.

And even though he was healing well he really wasn't up to drunk-diversion sex just yet. So silence it was.

He tried to push away encroaching notions of what lay ahead today as they threatened to wake him up completely, but he'd already begun to take a mental inventory; dull, persistent aching and a building headache with brief sunny spells on the horizon. Today was Tuesday, and how many days since that night? He wouldn't let himself figure it out. He absolutely refused to keep defining time from the night of the Holathane attack, (as they'd found out the offending alien was called). It just kept its dominance over him going.

Sadly, refusing to acknowledge it was proving practically impossible. Ianto was in no position not to keep track of what day and date it was. He had a job, he had bills, he was a contributing member of society and as such details such as the time of year were somewhat important. More than that he had an important job, in a very important organisation, where the definition of his role was to know what was going on and when for all involved. It was downright irresponsible for him not to play the role of a walking-calender, an act which gave him no choice but to measure time in relation to the problem he was keen to avoid.

To coin a phrase, bloody Torchwood.

And bloody alarm clocks. Urgent noises had started to buzz around his brain again even though he swore the damned thing had just finished sounding. He reached for the clock but his hand found his ringing phone instead, and he was glad his limbs had at least figured out what was going on when he had not.

He muttered whatever the morning version of, 'helloo', was into the receiver and was surprised to hear Jack's voice on the other end of the line. He sat up and attempted to shake himself from his languorous morning-musings; Jack only called him for two things, and the good one took place at night. This phone call was an alarm after all.

'You know that case we're working on.'

Now what kind of question was that given their job? 'That case.' He wasn't even sure it was a question given that Jack's tone turned everything into a command, but there was a pause that seemed to warrant a response, prompting Ianto to hazard a guess.

'The– one with the alien activity?'

'Some of the facts just don't add up.'

Jack started to list these facts as Ianto shook his head and mouthed to himself disbelievingly. 'Alien. Activity.' He wondered sometimes if Jack realised phones allowed you not just to talk but to hear the person you were talking to, as he clearly couldn't be listening if he'd accepted, 'alien activity', as a way of identifying a specific Torchwood case. He hoped Jack didn't take everything he said in humour as writ. If he did, he was having a relationship with a whole different person.

Hold on, relationship? Where the fuck did that come from?

'Ianto?'

And shouldn't you be listening when he talks at you?

'Ianto? You awake?'

'Yes I was just thinking.'

It was a curse of his recent condition than whenever he failed to respond fast enough everyone attributed it to his falling asleep, but it didn't seem to matter. He'd grasped two words in that this was no emergency, though for the life of him he couldn't figure out why else Jack had called. He seemed by all accounts just to be talking through the case which had kept him from visiting the previous night – it was nothing he couldn't have debriefed him on at work.

In any case Ianto did his best to suggest some files he thought might help and to direct Jack to their location when he failed to comprehend the extensively complicated filing system. It would have been a lot easier to do it himself when he got in but especially now that Jack suspected him of falling asleep mid-conversation he felt the need to prove his use. Although it was impossible to measure objectively he felt certain the others were all more attuned to every lull in concentration and every break he took lately, judging his recovery to be much slower than it truly was when really they'd just started paying attention to him in a way they never had before. The real change was in the amount of work they didn't see after all.

He'd told them once that they never paid attention to him, and now that they were he was finding it almost as taxing as being ignored.

His mind continued to drift as Jack continued to talk, and that he was thinking like this probably wasn't a great indicator of the day to come. Some days he saw the individual efforts of Gwen, Owen and Tosh not to call attention to his state and he was thankful to them for acting as his friends. Some days refusing to acknowledge it was just as bad and they lost the privilege of names, becoming, 'the others', to him. He didn't like to think of them that way even though it made it easier to distance himself. Something about the depersonalisation made him feel distinctly serial killer-like, and that made him feel more unsettled than a simile had any right to.

Jack seemed to have run out of things to say, which Ianto probably would have made a bigger deal out of if he hadn't been caught first thing. For some reason he stayed on the line resulting in an unhealthy amount of silence as Ianto stuck firm to his resolution not to ramble at him without direction. Eventually Jack bid him goodbye, and he could have been wrong but Ianto was sure he sensed the air of someone who was waiting for something. He climbed out of bed and into the day a little perturbed – he couldn't remember ever having received such a random call from Jack before. And then to have the nerve to act as if Ianto were the one acting out of character.

Being that he had his important job to get to he pushed the interaction away as he did with so much these days, happy to head to the distraction of work where he had more pressing matters to attend to.

* * *

Ianto didn't know where this Torchwood free of mundane problems was that he'd imagined but it certainly wasn't the one he worked for. Despite his efforts he'd found himself distinctly scattered for the better part of the day, the first time in a long time it was unrelated to medication or pain-levels. After attempting to caffeine-jolt his way out of it for the fourth mug he decided it was time to just give in. To Hell with the recovery facade. He was fine. He wouldn't be running any marathons in the near future but he didn't need painkillers to get through the day any more, he wasn't falling asleep every time he sat down and he could recall the day in enough detail to suggest he hadn't suffered any memory losses. That was it, he was calling it. As of now, every lapse he suffered was just that; a lapse. If he just stayed on course with the reduced workload he should be alright. He wasn't going to worry about what the others thought any more, if he was stuck in his thoughts then there was nothing more to it. He'd always been fairly introverted around them anyway.

Of course now that he'd given himself permission to pursue his daydreams they twisted away from him and refused to come into focus, as dreams had a habit of doing. He had to create a touchstone to bring himself back on task. He latched on to the conversation with Jack that morning. It hadn't been anything to take note of, and while Jack had continued to work on the case all day Ianto had been otherwise occupied, and there was no point reflecting on it when he wasn't fully enough informed. If Jack needed him on this he would have told him. Which led him back to his original question; why had Jack called, and for that matter since when was anything he did not of note? He'd once referred to Jack as innovative, but if he managed to transform that mornings exchange into one of their games he'd deserve some kind of award for most boring conversation ever incorporated into a running competition.

But still it remained that whenever Ianto doubted Jack's motivation sex was what he usually settled on, so what else could it be? A roundabout and elaborate justification of why he hadn't come over the night before? Ianto hadn't needed one. He was happy to be with him but it was kind of nice not to be checked up on for once, and he knew that was what it was; checking up. Just as sweetness wasn't Owen's strength, subtlety wasn't Jacks.

Ianto shook his head. This wasn't working. He had to be occupied in some trivial form in order to think this through properly. Fortunately a significant part of his ability to know everything inside out stemmed from the role he was best known for, and so harbouring ulterior motives he set off to make a round of coffee, safe in the knowledge that if nothing else it would help keep up appearances.

* * *

Jack hadn't even mentioned the case once since he'd been in, and his last visit had been no different. Ianto saw no sign of the files he'd recommended, strengthening his theory that Jack was a fan of the mute button. He wondered why then he'd called and actually caught himself rolling his eyes as the debate started yet again in his head. Jack must have caught it too because he began to give off the same vibe as he had that morning; simultaneously brushing him off and then tensing up every time he made to leave, giving Ianto no option but to behave strangely back as he tried to read Jack's ever-changing signals. He was saved by Owen, of all people, whose rapidly-cooling drink he still held in his hands providing an excellent excuse which he utilised in the form of an easy shrugging expression, walking out through what felt like a tangible wall of tension.

Even as close as a week ago he probably would have figured he and Jack had simply had a fight which he'd subsequently forgotten, but his memory had improved vastly now that he'd cut back on the painkillers. As he made his way to Owen's workstation he mused that forgetting had in fact been a lot easier, and then instantly regretted it as if Owen might somehow hear him. Easier or no he did _not_ want to start forgetting things again.

He would have left Owen without saying anything but he was stopped by his expression. He was frowning at him as if trying to figure him out, and Ianto found himself guilty of the same hypocrisy he'd earlier accused the others of as he attributed Owen's standard prickly demeanor to a new phenomena and wondered if he'd missed the acquisition of another psychic amulet – it was almost as if he'd heard what Ianto was thinking.

He supposed it would have looked quite comical if anyone had walked in and found them staring at each other as if they'd never met, but as he would soon come to lament they were left well alone. Owen broke out of it first, being less adept at keeping quiet than Ianto, and carried on abruptly as if nothing had happened.

'Ianto, just the tea-boy I wanted to see.'

Ianto considered pointing out he'd actually brought Owen coffee and that maybe it was time for a more appropriate title, but didn't want to invite the danger. If Jack ever got hold of the nickname, 'hot-beverage boy', he was going to have to steal and employ a significant amount of retcon and he really didn't want to start fiddling paperwork this soon after returning to work.

Owen showed no sign of reacting to his internal monologue, leading Ianto to safely assume against his telepathic abilities. Sadly his pondering robbed him of the opening to snipe some witty reply, and he mentally added to his tally of times-to-get-Owen-back-later.

The present Owen simply kicked out a chair towards him with unnecessary force, which was his way of sitting Ianto down. It wasn't due to some drugged stupor that he realised before it was too late that this was A Serious Thing – he just hadn't seen this coming, forgetting for a moment that Owen usually went out of his way to find and torment him, and if he was initiating conversation on his home turf Ianto was probably in for something he didn't want to experience. Owen meanwhile threw his legs on to his desk and began to swivel his chair in what could only be described as an irritating fashion.

'You still in pain?'

'Physically or socially?'

Owen looked at him incredulously. 'Ianto, you've been hiding a social life from me?!'

Another eye-roll, he'd have to break that habit.

'Not as much, just aching.' He gave an exaggerated shrug to try and hide just how uncomfortable this was making him. It was always strange talking to the doctor seriously like this, especially now that Jack had essentially taken over his role in Ianto's case.

Owen nodded at his computer. 'Says here you're due another course of painkillers.'

'I don't want them.'

Owen shook his head. 'Ianto don't be a hero, that's what got you in this mess.'

'I've still got some left, I don't need another course.'

'How often you been taking them?'

'Whenever I need them.'

Owen actually looked frustrated by his half-answers, and Ianto was alarmed to find he felt sort of guilty for not cooperating when he could have just given him the drugs without taking the time to check up on him. He sighed and relented.

'Every other day or so.'

He watched as Owen made a note on his computer, giving him somewhere else to focus as he attempted to make the next question sound casual.

'You take any this morning?'

Ianto started to answer but was interrupted as several intertwining threads suddenly resolved in his mind. He took a deep breath and slumped in his seat as he realised perhaps a little slowly just what this ninja-medical was about.

'You've been talking to Jack.'

Owen didn't even try and deny it. 'Well he sure as fuck doesn't know about dosages on his own.'

Ianto searched for something to say that wouldn't come across as petulant or self-pitying, but he couldn't understand why Jack hadn't just talked to him if he'd thought he was behaving oddly rather than going behind his back. He'd had plenty of chances to ask where Ianto could have explained it was all in reaction to Jacks bizzare behaviour in the first place. It was nothing to do with the painkillers addling his mind, he hadn't even taken any in the last two days, which Jack should know if he was controlling Ianto's medication supply.

Wait a minute, that wasn't right. That would make it utterly nonsensical for Jack to go to Owen as he would already know if Ianto was reacting to the drugs. He was missing something here.

'What did Jack ask you?'

'Ask me? Since when does Jack ask anything? He didn't know when to administer the pills. Believe it or not he isn't a trained doctor, that's why I wear the coat.' He flicked the colourful badges lining his neck. 'If I left it to him he'd have given you an overdose and wouldn't understand why it killed you. Man doesn't understand the rest of us aren't invincible.'

Ianto wasn't sure he could disagree with Owen more on this point but he pressed forward, feeling the need to get this misunderstanding clear while he could.

'Then why were you asking about this morning?'

Owen looked around, and Ianto was sure he was checking no one could hear them. He found he was leaning forward conspiratorially in spite of himself.

'Mate I don't enjoy watching you any more than you enjoy being watched; there are more attractive prospects I could stare at around here.'

Ianto nodded. 'Gwen.'

'Naturally. But you've been inside your head all day, and frankly I don't want to know what's going on in there but when someone's taken a beating like you have and I'm not monitoring their medication it's my _job_ to ask questions if they're walking around like they've got a concussion.'

Ianto sat back and chewed on that. It may indeed be Owen's job, but if he really felt that unattached he wouldn't have made sure they were alone before he explained. He was genuinely concerned.

Just when he thought he had the whole conspiracy figured out, Owen had to turn around and be _nice_.

This was his own fault for classing Owen as an, 'other', today. Even when he didn't know he was doing it Owen just had to be difficult.

Ianto looked back at him and took a second to formulate his reply, feeling thoroughly humbled and more than a little chastised by the doctors manner. After a pause that stretched on slightly too long he assured Owen he was fine, that he wasn't bravely struggling through unbearable pain, he'd just rather take some discomfort in order to do his job. Owen accepted it without further teasing and insisted on prescribing some weaker painkillers that would allow him to rest easier without the drowsiness. Five minutes later Ianto was walking out of the doctors den, feeling thoroughly on edge at what Owen had unknowingly triggered: He'd been so adamant that he was better that it hadn't even occurred to him how this was affecting the others. He knew their work had increased and all he could think about was his own, he hadn't even asked Tosh about her leg lately. He'd convinced himself they were acting differently than before to avoid upsetting him like he was unstable, of _course _they were acting differently if they had more work to get through, and on top of that they were careful not to mention it to him because they knew he'd feel guilty. Far from tiptoeing around to avoid upsetting the balance, they were going out of their way because they cared.

On some level he knew this should make him feel better, to have friends and colleagues who gave a damn about his wellbeing, but as he tried to find a new task to occupy him he began to feel sick instead at how childish he'd been. Here he'd decided he was as good as recovered without even giving a thought to the selfish way he'd dealt with the situation.

The caffeine in his system wasn't helping and he knew from experience how hard it was to take a break at Torchwood. Increasingly agitated he headed for the archives where he was unlikely to be disturbed, suddenly very eager for the day to be over.

* * *

Jack was sitting alone in his office, vaguely aware that the late hour meant he was unlikely to get much more done. He was getting nowhere with this case. He'd had an initial breakthrough this morning which was looking to be the furthest he was going to get with it since starting. He tried to remember what events had surrounded it, thinking maybe he could recreate it instead of staring at the files listlessly, but couldn't recall anything to explain it. It had been a totally unremarkable morning; he'd investigated some calls, followed up on some loose ends, spoken to Ianto, made some progress on the case and then reached a complete stall. All fairly normal activity leading up to his sudden burst of insight.

Except now he thought about it, it hadn't been a _completely_ normal morning, and it hadn't followed in exactly that order. He didn't speak to Ianto and then make progress on the case; the case had started getting clearer as he related it to him.

The weird thing was, he hadn't even called to hear his opinions on the theory. It wasn't that he didn't value his input, but now he looked back he realised he couldn't even remember dialling, it just felt perfectly natural to be speaking with him. Things just seemed to make more sense when he said them to Ianto. Something in his voice made everything clearer – the inconsistencies that had been bothering him in the case had suddenly seemed glaringly obvious. He'd been spurred forward to the point he wished Ianto would hurry up and reach his point so he could get back to it, actually forgetting it had been him who called in the first place.

No wonder Ianto had seemed unsure around him earlier if he was coming across that erratic. Jack hadn't been deliberately trying to push him away, his presence just brought his focus back that was all.

And that he realised was not a very Jack-way to operate. He didn't rely on his team to help him think, they did their job and he did his.

Even as he thought that though, he realised that what was happening with Ianto wasn't team related, or related to work in any way. He knew Ianto held back from him, but this was the first time he'd considered just how much he'd been holding back himself.

Maybe he could play it off and hope Ianto would be on too many painkillers to remember.

_Whoa, okay that's the kind of thing you go to Hell for, Jack._

Yeah that was definitely a sentiment best kept to himself. Besides which, Ianto wasn't on high enough levels of medication any more for Jack to deny a move that audacious.

Noticing how stale his office felt now that he was thinking about something other than work he got up from his desk for a change of scenery of sorts – just walls to walk past that weren't as familiar. He wasn't sure exactly what time it was but it was late enough for the team to be going. He could hear Tosh typing furiously and made sure to avoid her, not daring to interrupt whatever she was working on and not wishing to be interrupted himself as he made his way further into the depths of the complex, quite unaware of his surroundings.

Some time later still he emerged into a hub devoid of movement. He didn't know how long he'd been wandering but he felt sure the others were gone by now, as the floor had taken on the intangible quality of a space abandoned.

He was rightfully startled then when he found Ianto in his office, so alike in stillness to his surroundings that Jack failed to register his presence until he was halfway through the door.

Ianto was stood next to his desk, wearing the slightly dazed expression of someone who hadn't blinked in a while. He didn't seem to notice Jack either until the other man moved closer to his desk, where Ianto warned him not to move any further.

Jack frowned, seeing no reason not to approach. 'Why?'

'You see how close I'm standing to your desk?'

Jack did.

'You see the mug on it? It's full of hot coffee. I thought you might like some before I left. But I'm stood too close to it, if I move to my right it's going to spill.'

He stopped talking and frowned as if he was thinking very hard for long enough to make Jack twitchy. He didn't think this was going to turn into a game any time soon, and he really wasn't following.

'So don't move right.'

Ianto nodded but still didn't look at him. 'I thought of that, but my shirt's caught. Move left and I'm going to tear it.'

Jack's eyes fell to his shirt which was indeed caught on one of the sharp artefacts cluttering his desk. He couldn't see that either option was the end of the world, but the slight tremor in Ianto's stance told him otherwise. The office was far too still, and he didn't like to think how long exactly this had been playing out.

He stood in the quiet a little longer than he'd have liked before he snapped out of it. This was ridiculous, he didn't know how this disconnect had fallen over the two of them today but he'd had enough of it, and he decided in his Jack fashion to cut through it. Moments like this with Ianto were rare when he wasn't under some outside influence, tending as he did to keep everyone at arms length. You almost wanted to preserve them just to say you'd seen that side of him, but Jack reasoned he wouldn't be showing vulnerability unless he wanted help. So he moved to the table and removed the offending drink, deftly unhooking the shirt material from the catch on the table as he did. He felt sure that would have been the end of it if his hand hadn't come back bloody.

He looked down, placing the mug back on his desk, and carefully moved the small torn strip of material away from Ianto's side, revealing a bleeding scratch that marred his pale skin and the even paler healing scars. He realised with a sickening lurch that Ianto hadn't been talking about the tear in the material; it was in his skin.

Jack cursed under his breath, and looked back at Ianto, not knowing what to do. The cut wasn't deep, but it reflected something awful that he hadn't even reacted to it. Recently any weirdness from him had been a result of either pain or pills, which was understandable given the circumstances, but this felt different, and as keen as Jack was to clear the distance between them it seemed now more insurmountable than ever. And Ianto still didn't move.

Trying to fix one problem at a time Jack brought his hand to his face and gently forced Ianto to look at him. He looked back hesitantly, and Jack knew right then that he wasn't the only one who'd had a lot to think through that day.

Unable to convey any of this adequately with words he stroked his face slowly and kissed him as reassuringly as he could, wanting more than anything to take that lost look from him. Feeling Ianto relax gradually against him he pulled back and searched his eyes for some hint of the clarity he was used to.

Ianto just smiled unconvincingly. 'It's okay,' he said softly. 'I'm okay.'

Jack kissed him again, not believing the words but determined to make them true.

* * *

**A/N;** I've begun to develop some form of direction for this story, (no, really), so as always I would love to hear what you think. And thank you for reading this absurdly long chapter. I was more scared of writing Owen than I was by my finals which goes a long way to showing my priorities – I've seen relatively little of Owen onscreen so I hope he's not completely off the mark.

Furthermore let it be known that Vera, anita, Nargil, nicky-hb, Talipuu, (whose review was so damned sweet), hotflower, Ithilian and shadowland are all beautiful people. That's right, I'm reviewing my reviewers.


	4. Chapter 4

Case Report 0905834

**Designation:** Cimmerians

(AKA: 'The Spectres')

**Appearance**: Unknown

**Origin**: Unknown

**Detection**: Radiation traces thought to stem from the creatures. (_Not proven – no known instances of captured specimens._)

**Bio**: Mainly unknown. It is not known whether the Cimmerians come to Earth to hunt, kill, steal or communicate. They are only known by radiation traces. These traces, when found, are in places thought to be uninhabited or not known to exist to the public, (_Colloquial: 'Hidden places_'). The Cimmerian bio is hard to deduct because they centre around places defined by secrecy. Little documentation exists to establish what condition a site was in, or what it contained before the Cimmerians arrived. Witnesses are hard to track; those thought to be involved either deny all knowledge, or more frequently vanish at the time of the incident. Incidents themselves are rarely reported at time of occurrence; most confirmed cases are discovered by accident, sometimes years after the fact. All that can be asserted in most cases is that the Cimmerians were present, and then only through equipment sensitive to their trail, (_standard Torchwood issue_).

Evidence suggests their mode of travel may, 'warp', time at the sites of the incidents, as radiation is consistent with that found surrounding black holes.

Few historical references can be verified due to the nature of the sites involved and the illusiveness of the creatures. The closest, mentioned only due to it's source in Cardiff and thus possible connection to The Rift, is an account of the, 'Spectres', (_attached_), shadowy creatures thought to drown light from the surrounding area. The attached case is a common example of accounts concerning the Spectres, containing the spoken consensus of these instances:

'They bring darkness.' __p3; attr. Walder, K._

* * *

Gwen had theorised that, 'the darkness', was a metaphor for fear. Fear of the unknown. A little philosophical for Jack's liking, as their biggest challenge here was fact-gathering and sentiments like that made it sound near impossible. Now though it seemed to him there may be something to Gwen's theory, as the longer Jack stared at the report in front of him, the more he saw Torchwood as a hidden place.

_A flash of blood, and skin_.

He scrubbed his face with his hands. Last night just would not leave him alone. His desk resembled too closely the scene of the crime.

Jack had a long-held theory that there was a point with every event in life where you either let it go, or accepted it as one of those forever things that had such an impact on your life that it infiltrated every day since. Jack didn't think this whole injury fiasco with Ianto was one of them, but there was something about it that hinted at change. It wasn't to be found in the event itself, but his reaction to it.

There was something he'd been resolutely ignoring throughout, suspending as if it wasn't an issue. Something he never ignored.

Sex.

At first it was pure physicality. Ianto was hurt. Jack, being The Jack Harkness, of course knew ways around that, but Ianto had been sleeping so much it never really had a chance to materialise. But they'd passed the physical barrier now and still he hadn't pursued it, not seriously, which meant it had turned into something else. He'd been withholding for some other reason, but what? Why would he, Jack, ever willingly withhold it?

He felt like banging his head on his desk; he hated that he'd become such a theoretical person recently. He wasn't stupid, but he wasn't a thinker. His natural state was to be doing things, not thinking about them. He needed outside sources to help him think about things.

It was yesterday all over again. This would be so much easier to think through with Ianto's input, but the last thing Ianto needed right now was someone messing with his head.

In an alternate universe he would have tried to trace when exactly he'd started needing Ianto's input to make sense of life and realised it was at the very least correlated with the suspension of sex, but in this one he felt he was on to something: _Messing with his head_.

Ianto was in such a screwed up head space that Jack didn't want to confuse him further.

In theory, that made sense. It explained a lot. In reality however, it was patently ridiculous.

Ianto needed people who cared about him right now, so sex could only hurt him if it was meaningless. Jack never thought sex had to be meaningless, it had plenty of meanings. It could be fun, life-affirming, it could bring clarity where little else could. Hell sex with Ianto last night had been slow, new and intimate. If sex could be healing, this was.

It had fucked Jack's head up completely.

He could only imagine what it had done to Ianto. He'd just seemed so lost and Jack wanted to make it better. It just made sense to him to do what he knew how.

So acting the way he did should have made sense, brought clarity. In fact he knew that in the moment it had, but now those effects had evaporated. Things were more confused than ever, or more accurately, _he_ was more confused than ever. The presence of sex just threw its absence into sharp relief. He couldn't even say why it was so important, but he knew it was, and he'd learned to trust his instincts. It was hard to ignore that impulse and try to focus on something else.

He put down the Spectre file and crossed his legs on his desk, arms behind his head. Maybe if he just took a few minutes where he didn't try to ignore the events of last night he'd be able to think them through and reach a conclusion, silencing the subject and allowing him to get some work done for a change. So he thought back to before Ianto had been ready, had his injuries been the only thing that stopped them? Or was there something else?

He chewed a pen for good measure, considered making notes, and recognised instantly the danger in leaving evidence. He realised as he tried to think back how hyper-aware he'd become of Ianto lately – it was easier to think of his status over the last few weeks than what Jack himself had been doing. Actually, Owen had been quite adamant about that, that he actively pay attention.

_'Negative mindset slows recovery y'see. Traumas of this kind can make people doubt, make everything bad seem bigger. And Ianto's bad enough for working himself up into a state as it is.'_

_'How can you possibly know that?'_

_'Boring waters run deep..'_

Jack had rolled his eyes at Owen then, and did the same towards himself now.

Before, when Ianto was worse, Jack hadn't wanted him to feel pressured, because he had a tendency to try and please, and Jack had what you could call – he bit the pen harder as he snickered innappropriately – a _strong_ will, and he didn't want Ianto to feel as if sex was all he wanted from him, because that wasn't true.

But again, that barrier had been passed. If he and Ianto were purely physical then Jack never would have got involved in his care, Owen would have carried on treating him and that would have been the end of it. He knew he'd made the right decision there, it might not have _looked_ professional but it was better for them as a team to have Owen freed up, and Ianto recovering faster without being antagonised. Still, it wasn't like Jack had needed persuading to take over, it was just a natural progression and Ianto, messed up or not, had seen that. There was no danger that he felt used in any way, this whole event hadn't shed any negative light on the two of them. Ianto might not know how much Jack's actions had helped the team, but he knew exactly what Jack had done for him.

His eyes drifted back to the case file, desperate to stop thinking and start working. He forced them away to nothing in particular.

Ianto knew exactly what Jack had done for him, and that scared the hell out of him.

Because that meant he hadn't just been holding back for Ianto's sake. He'd been holding back for his.

Gwen appeared in front of him. 'Jack? We're waiting.'

That's right they were; the Spectres, – the Cimmerians – had reached meeting status, and now he was going into it distracted. No matter what he tried to think about he was distracted. He had to stop letting that happen, he had to figure out why it was happening, but for now, he had to go and run a meeting.

* * *

Ianto drank his tea not because he was thirsty or for the caffeine boost, but to hide the smile on his face. He was in a meeting. A team meeting. He'd made drinks for everyone, made sure to ask after Tosh, and now he was sat waiting for it to start surrounded by the idle chatter of his teammates. He felt good. Normal. Boring even.

He recognised the intensity of the changes in himself lately. Over the course of the last 48 hours he'd gone from frustration, to guilt, a type of emptiness he wasn't sure there was a name for.. It was volatile, and now he felt better that seemed obvious. He'd been medicated and hazy for so long that he had to get used to handling ups and downs again. It was like seeing after being blind; the world was too bright.

He didn't like being at his own mercy like that. Ianto didn't like to feel out of control, but at least he was thinking clearly enough to understand what was happening to him, and at least in this exact moment he was up.

Jack entered the briefing room then and didn't spare him a glance. In his good mood he took that as a positive thing, that Jack didn't need to check to see he was alright to work, but he knew that was a product of his mood and not the action. If he'd been feeling low right then Jack's lack of attention would have made him falter.

'The Cimmerians,' Jack started, 'perhaps also known as the Spectres. At first we thought the most we knew about them was what we didn't know about them. Now, well that's still true.'

Tosh and Ianto had both been off when this case had first started floating around, but Ianto had largely caught up through his attempts to assist Jack. The recap was mainly for Tosh's benefit, and he found more of his attention focussed inward, monitoring himself as Jack spoke, looking for any signs of mood swings to come.

He was getting used to analysing his moods and reactions without getting upset by them. Buddhists called it bare attention – watching your thoughts but not attaching yourself to them. It had been a while since he fell back on his considerable breadth of knowledge to help him through a situation, and seeing this caused him a swell of pride that he made no effort to detach himself from. Another piece of him had clicked back into place, he felt closer to whole than he had in a long time. In keeping with this return to normality he turned as much attention as he could back to the room as Jack gestured to the brick in the middle of the table, the brick which scans showed was decaying slower than the laws of physics dictated. The meeting began in earnest, and Ianto sat through it and participated easily, stuttering only when the subject of extra hours came up. That worried him. He couldn't avoid stress in his job, but if he began losing sleep too the new perspective he'd gained could easily be lost.

He resolved to ask Owen later. It was his job after all. He had a feeling his recovery would be done a lot faster with the doctor involved. Besides, the only other person he could talk to about it in a professional capacity was Jack, and if this morning was anything to go by that was going to be a problem.

Yesterday, when he was trying to help Jack with the case in hand, he'd known something strange was going on with him. In fact he felt he'd done pretty well not to get completely sucked down by it, (that honour being reserved for his talk with Owen). This morning that weirdness was back. It reminded him of Jack's extended trip with The Doctor, his behaviour on his return. How Jack had almost seemed to forget how to act around him. It was asking a lot, but Ianto had hoped that after last night this would go away again, as if ridding the physical distance between them would sew them back together. Last night he'd felt so much better than he had in a long time. He knew it was stupid, but it was like his confidence was back. For the first time in a long time, he'd felt needed. Yesterday had been a low point, today he truly felt like part of the team again.

That same confidence allowed him to see that the weirdness was definitely on Jack's part. He was acting normal enough in front of the others. No, this was reserved for him alone.

_How gratifying it is to be special._

After some discussion and doling out of duties, (Ianto was to delve into Cardiff's history for accounts of the Spectres while Gwen went after potential witnesses; Gwen possessing exceptional people skills and Ianto, he had dryly assessed, being the only other member of the team who was Welsh), the meeting ended and Jack dismissed them. Ianto decided to accost Owen immediately before he got too worried about the overtime.

'Except Owen, I need to go over some points in my office.'

It was a good job Ianto was in one of his better moods, because otherwise he would have started to suspect Jack was doing this on purpose.

* * *

Talking to Owen it occurred to Jack why work and Ianto were two subjects that interfered with each other. It was really not easy to focus solely on work for one stubborn reason; Ianto was part of it. Or vice versa. But he needed to know how close this was to over, how soon he could, (medically), class Ianto as back to normal. He also had a sneak suspicion that Owen had, knowingly or unknowingly played a role in triggering Ianto's breakdown the day before, having watched the surveillence footage and finding their unheard conversation to be the last contact Ianto had with anyone before Jack found him.

'Look I know you want to talk about Ianto so just get it over with, it's less painful if you do it fast, like removing a plaster.'

Jack tried to look surprised. 'What gives you that idea?'

'I like to call it my brain. It's pretty large you know.'

Jack rolled his eyes and wondered where he'd picked up the habit. 'How's he doing?'

'You tell me.'

'I'm not a doctor.'

'Wrong coat.'

Right then Jack was having a hard enough time understanding himself without taking on Owen too, so he tried a new tactic.

'This case looks pretty big, an all hands on deck type of deal.'

'If you're asking if he's up to an increased workload medically, the answer is not yet. If it's a poorly disguised cover to spy on him, I'm afraid that falls under doctor/patient crap.'

'Why, what's been going on?'

'Christ Jack, anyone would think you really are checking up on him behind his back.'

'What? He said that? That's ridiculous!'

Owen just looked at him.

'I'm not checking up on him. If anything I'm checking up on _you_.'

'Look, I don't get paid to be a counselor, and even if you offered I'd say no. I'm already dangerously over-paid.'

'I'll keep that in mind when your review rolls round.'

'Yes well - if you demand more from him I'll need a raise for increased workload anyway, because if he puts in the hours he _will_ get worse.'

Jack uncrossed his arms and recrossed them instantly. Because of course he _wanted_ this case to be difficult and Ianto to deteriorate. Owen had the nerve to stand on the outside speaking as if Jack's position were clearcut, and it made Jack turn cold with instant fury. 'Welcome to Torchwood, you don't get to choose your hours.'

Owen slammed down his coffee, suddenly and equally angry in reaction to Jack's own quick turnaround.

'You know the reason I don't like dealing with patients? People don't know their own limits until they've pushed them too far. But doctors do, and I am telling you, this is too far.'

Jack stared at him evenly.

'We all have a lot of work to do. I suggest you stop wasting time.'

Owen stormed out and past Ianto who'd just been approaching. Ianto looked startled as Owen brushed past and looked back to Jack's office; after a moment he backed off completely, shuddering almost imperceptibly as he soaked in the tension by proxy.

Jack looked down at his desk but glanced up briefly to see Owen walk in one direction, Ianto in another, and his own reflection in the glass screen between them. Lowering himself into a chair and taking an even breath, he looked at the angered man staring back at him in the glass.

He looked at him and knew that he was wrong.

Because Owen _wasn't_ on the outside looking in; the doctor knew where he stood in all of this. Owen was just as far in as Jack and still he put his role within the team first. He spoke as if Jack were only the man in charge, there to make unbiased decisions, and that was how it _should_ be. Jack's role was clear, and yet when it came to their current situation, he had to work to understand his own mind. It was him that was confusing everything, it was him who couldn't keep his position straight anymore. It was him that stood on the outside looking in.

That was the problem.

His past problems, being made of alien invasions and wars and infiltrations, seemed to hear him and scoff, an alarm blaring suddenly in his ear. Weevils making for the surface.

He leaped to his feet and out the door, running into Gwen on the way.

'You stay here Gwen, I'll handle this.'

'I can come with you!'

'No you stay here, you keep an eye out for the Spectres.'

'Jack–'

'I said stay!' He ran out and past without waiting for a response, throwing himself into the car and tearing toward the site of the alert.

He wasn't stupid, but he was eager to solve a problem with brute force.

* * *

When Jack returned there was mud on his boots and blood on his shirt. There was also a definite spring in his step. Let the Spectres make their move now and he'd take them on single-handed.

Gwen had seemed wary as she filled him in on the last few hours, probably concerned over his sharp exit earlier. Owen was slightly shorter with him than usual and for a brief moment his buoyed mood told him an apology was in order, but he quickly dismissed it. Owen was even worse at accepting apologies than he was at making them. He noticed too that thinking back on the argument elicited no convoluted dilemmas in his thought process; the Weevil encounter had cleared his head the way a brisk walk would for most people.

Ianto for his part either hadn't noticed the sudden departure or wasn't bothered by it. His smile matched Jack's easily.

Jack headed to his office and changed out of his bloodied shirt.

A flash of blood, and skin.. The new scratch on Ianto's side would take days to heal. Jack was far more severely injured than that just an hour ago, and he had strolled into the hub, wounds already repaired, secure in the knowledge that a new shirt was all it would take to erase any trace it had ever happened. He wondered if he should act a little less brazen about his abilities. He wondered what Ianto must have made of his appearance.

Why did it matter what Ianto thought? He started slightly, surprised by his own brain, his newfound clarity feeling callous, but pursued it with the same determination he'd used to pursue the Weevils. He sat at his desk and shifted the case report from sight. All illusions put aside, he asked himself, why did he care? Why should it matter?

It had mattered what Ianto thought of how Jack treated him, it had mattered what he thought of the Spectres case. Lately it mattered more and more what he thought of everything. There could be only one reason for that.

It mattered what Ianto thought because–

'Spoke to Owen.'

Ianto appeared in his office and Jack abandoned his train of thought to focus on the present.

'Oh yeah? What did he have to say for himself?'

'He thinks I shouldn't get too heavily involved.'

'And what do you think?'

Ianto looked surprised to be asked. 'I don't know,' he said thoughtfully, seating himself without waiting to be asked.

'Yes well if it were up to me.. But Owen has jurisdiction here.'

'Seriously?'

'In medical cases authority falls to the acting physician.'

Ianto's eyes darted to the floor. 'Right,' he echoed, 'Medical cases.' His tone was conversational but his stance made Jack's words heartless and insulting.

'No, I didn't mean it like that.' Jack groaned, feeling his clear-headedness start to fade. He made a desparate play to claim it back. 'Do-over? I promise I'll be charming this time?'

It worked! His improved mindset worked, and Ianto actually smiled at him. That slow, deep smile he got when he was put on the spot. Jack hadn't even realised he'd missed it.

They soon settled into a comfortable silence, broken only by exchanged facts and theories here and there and interrupted what Jack deemed an obscene number of times for drink orders. Ianto seemed inordinately happy to oblige, and Jack was reminded of his previous assertion that Ianto too often gauged his worth by the quality of his work.

He accepted another coffee gratefully, and wondered wryly how Ianto was supposed to know any different when no one showed him otherwise.

Quitting time rolled around and past and at some point Ianto had stopped working and started dozing – anyone would have, it was exhausting work. Several hours after he should have finished he started suddenly and seemed to take a few seconds to gather his bearings. 'Right,' he said looking down at his disheveled clothes, 'I should be going.' In a break with recent tradition he didn't seem frustrated or confused to have fallen asleep, rather he seemed strangely confident in the way he handled himself. He really did seem different today.

Jack found he didn't want him to leave, not least because he knew that without Ianto there his ability to work was going to dip significantly. Somehow though it felt like crossing a line, there was a limit to how long he could get Ianto to stay without admitting it was nothing to do with work and more to do with selfishness.

_People don't know their own limits until they've pushed them too far.._

Ianto got up to leave. It all depended, did Jack think of himself as someone with limits?

'Ianto, stay.'

Ianto looked suspicious, probably thinking he was about to contradict Owen's orders. 'Is there something you needed?'

'No, no work, just.. You don't have to leave.'

Ianto looked at him for a moment, then sat back down, cast his paper aside, and just watched him for a while. Jack soon stopped noticing, getting on with his work and no longer distracted by thoughts of Ianto now he was sat in the room with him. After a while he told Ianto to go and sleep in his bed, seeing how tired he'd become, while Jack himself continued researching a few hours longer.

When Jack finally went to bed that night Ianto was already there. He climbed in next to him, and didn't wake him.

* * *

Jack was leaning on a desk near to Tosh's station as she typed away, aware of the buzz in the hub but not needing to pay attention. Everyone was working at full-capacity. He was considering making drinks himself but was stopped by two good reasons:

1. He was the boss. His attention was needed elsewhere, he wasn't paid his ridiculous salary to shirk his responsibilities.

2. Ianto was plain better at it.

Ianto was approaching with drinks in hand as he mused, which was the only reason he saw it before he heard it. As he watched Ianto wavered slightly, fell sideways, and slid down the wall frighteningly fast. The mugs shattered as he hit the ground. He had passed out.

Jack threw the desk back and ran towards him, what the hell had happened? Ianto shouldn't be out of control any more, he'd been fine just seconds ago and then he'd just– he heard another crash behind him; Tosh had fallen into one of her computers. She didn't get up.

He froze, time slowed down. Owen, he needed Owen.

He skidded toward the medical station, his mind fogging with panic, his body moving frustratingly slowly.

He ran past the monitors showing images of the rest of the hub. In the main screen Gwen lay slumped in the archives, a smaller screen saw Owen slide from his chair onto the medical station floor.

Jack stumbled, his vision diminishing. In a moment of terror he realised what was happening. Before he could reach any of them, he had passed out too.

Torchwood lay quiet, each member unseeing.

_They bring darkness._

* * *

**A/N:** Thank you for your time, more on the way should you want it, (and even if you don't).


	5. Chapter 5

Mentioned, (very), briefly are Ianto's family in keeping with Children of Earth, (abusive dad, and a relatively close relationship with his sister).

* * *

Jack stared through the metal bars as if focusing long and hard enough would dissolve them. With moodier lighting he would have looked like he belonged in a film noir, but the harsh fluorescent lights of the cells made everything appear sallow and dead.

_Stop focusing on things that are dead._

Ianto was in the cell opposite. He wasn't moving.

Jack had woken up sprawled on the floor at a strange angle. It was probably because he'd woken up in one too many cells in his time that it took him a moment to realise the cell in question was a Torchwood cell. From the corner of his vision he could see Tosh unconscious. It had taken him a few minutes to realise the suited figure across from him was Ianto.

'They bring darkness.'

_Bastards, they bring unconsciousness and a violent crick in the neck._

It had taken him a further few minutes, but Jack had no doubt it was the Cimmerians who'd put him here: 'They bring darkness', the team fell unconscious, and he swore it happened in slow motion - they manipulated time. They gravitated towards hidden places; Torchwood was a hidden place.

He knew he should have listened to his instincts on that one.

_Maybe if I'd paid attention to the case of the Cimmerians sooner I wouldn't find myself in_ **_my own bloody cells right now_**_._

He'd tried calling out to the others, (that was all he could really do), but for a few long minutes he'd remained alone. Then they'd woken up gradually around him, in reverse order to how they'd passed out – it seemed to Jack in order of strength, he was the strongest after all, and Gwen was in good condition and Ianto...

_He's weakened, it takes time. That's all..._

So he kept telling himself. It had taken them all a lot longer to get back up than to fall in the first place.

He felt the Cimmerians must still be manipulating time for it to pass so unforgivably slowly. Then again, listening to Gwen argue with Owen couldn't be helping.

'We just need to figure out what they want with us, maybe we can bargain our way out. I mean if they wanted us dead they'd have seen to it already.'

'Unless they wanted us conscious for it.'

'Owen that is not helping.'

'No,' Tosh joined the fray, 'Owen's right, they obviously want us conscious for whatever's coming. They might even want to experiment on us.'

A pipe dripped in the freaked out pause that followed.

_I'll have to get that fixed when this is all over. Even if the others all die I'll come back and that pipe will still need fixing._

Jack was in a morbid place.

'I don't think they want to hurt us,' Gwen in PC Cooper mode, 'if they did why would they wait? We're at their mercy aren't we?'

Jack snorted derisively. He would never agree with that, even if he was behind bars.

'Maybe they're really vile looking and they didn't want to scare us. There could be a representative about to walk through that door and apologise for the inconvenience any minute.'

Anyone who could crane their necks to view the entrance to the cells did.

'Any minute now.'

Jack couldn't see the entrance from his cell. He could only see that Ianto still wasn't moving.

If the Cimmerians were trying not to scare him, they were doing a piss poor job.

* * *

One cell away, but so much more distant, Ianto felt alarm bells start ringing in his head. He must have left the window open for it to be so cold. His side hurt, he must have ripped the cut back open in his sleep, and the sheets underneath him were caked hard with blood. Brilliant, they were white sheets. Blood was the hardest stain to get clean and there was so much of it. The alarms got louder. There was too much blood for a flesh wound like that, wasn't blood warm anyway?

The sheets weren't caked with blood, there was no blood, and there were no sheets. This was concrete. He hadn't been asleep - he'd been knocked unconscious.

He was not somewhere safe.

The alarms rang insistently.

He was so, incredibly tired.

For one brief moment that he would never admit to, he thought that when unconsciousness swam back towards him he would be glad to be dragged under. He'd be glad to be taken away from this noise to a place that was quiet and dead.

If only the voices of his friends weren't so loud.

* * *

Jack was only half listening to Gwen's speculations, but so far he'd heard them pass through practicality, optimism, bargaining and anger. He was fairly certain that next time he tuned in she'd have reached acceptance, wasn't that the final stage of grief?

_And we're back on dead things. Why can't we seem to move away from - _

Ianto shifted. He was coming back.

'-think to build a failsafe? Some way to get out if this happens?'

Jack tensed against the bars, replying absently. 'Well sometimes Torchwood employees are the ones who need to be locked up.'

Ianto seemed to turn towards the sound of their voices then sink back down. 'Jack?'

'Oh so just because a few people spoil it for the rest of us-'

'Shhh! Ianto?'

Gwen joined him. 'Ianto?'

Ianto winced at their voices. 'Please stop that,' he said calmly.

He struggled up and slowly pulled himself over to the nearest cell wall, using it to stay upright. He was breathing heavily. As Jack watched he closed his eyes facing the wall opposite rather than looking at Jack or his surroundings.

'Ianto, talk to me.'

He only waved a hand dismissively as though trying to stave off getting out of bed.

'Are you hurt?'

'Jack how's he looking?'

'Just give me a minute.'

But Owen was a doctor. 'Jack if he-'

Ianto put his hands over his ears. He looked as though he were suffering a migraine, probably disoriented by the Cimmerian attack and yet another bout of unconsciousness. Jack lifted a hand to silence Owen.

After a few deep breaths Ianto raised his head experimentally. Jack lowered his voice.

'Are you okay?'

'Fine.'

A self-assessment wasn't enough for Owen. 'Jack?'

Jack stared ahead.

'Carry on Gwen.'

Ianto closed his eyes still facing the wall opposite and took a few more laborious breaths as Jack listened. Had Tosh been looking she would have seen Jack staring forward with an unnerving intensity. When he spoke, Ianto turned to face him, body still facing forwards, and returned the stare. Jack mouthed the words, 'you okay?'

Ianto smiled weakly and mouthed back, 'Spectacular.' Then he spoke aloud.

'I know a way out.'

The pipe dripped.

'How?' Jack asked quietly. His voice sounded dangerous.

Ianto looked back at him but spoke to everyone.

'When I was clearing through the archives I found a device kept as evidence; it was top secret, part of an abandoned experiment: The Icarus Experiment. Essentially, it manipulates surface density. It doesn't work on organic matter but the implications were still huge. You could make weapons as hard as diamonds to penetrate enemy defences, or... You could pass through walls like they weren't there.'

'Enough of the science report,' said Owen, 'you had me at "pass through walls." How?'

'Ianto,' said Gwen, 'you said it was abandoned. Why is that?'

'It's... Unreliable. Buildings were destroyed in trials and people - didn't always make it to the other side of the wall.'

The look on Ianto's face told Jack there was more to that explanation, and it was gruesome.

'Maybe I'm missing something,' stated Tosh, 'but how does that help us? We're trapped and the device is in the arc-'

'It's here, isn't it,' stated Jack. 'You put it in the cells. Where we capture the most dangerous threats known to Earth, you installed a way out.'

'It was keyed to my DNA.'

Jack only looked at him. He couldn't believe how someone could be so smart and so stupid at the same time. Even to him his silence sounded judgemental.

'I had to know there was a way out. If you found out what I did - I had to be able to take care of her.'

Owen spoke in a tone that wasn't entirely unkind. 'You did it for Lisa.'

'I was going to take the device with me and destroy it when she was fixed, but after what happened...'

After Lisa was killed Ianto hadn't cared about what happened to him very much anymore. Jack cursed.

'Ianto,' asked Gwen, 'can you get us out of here?'

'No. But I can get out of here.'

He stood up and moved to the back of the cell.

'Wait,' called Gwen, 'don't we need a plan?'

'How about I'm a doctor get me out of here!' Owen suggested.

There was a sound at the entrance to the cells.

'Tosh!' Gwen screamed, Jack looked round to see her slump and fall unconscious. He felt his vision blur, _no not again!_

They needed just enough time for Ianto to get away, but time had slowed down for Jack and when he looked back, Ianto was already gone.

* * *

It was like showering backwards. Ianto shuddered and patted his limbs compulsively. Having been focused on Jack when he backed out his eyes were open, exposing him to the bizarre and suffocating sight of the inside of the bricks. He didn't know if that was worse than the alternative. Whenever he closed his eyes he was haunted by the image of a disembodied arm reaching outwards from a stone wall, the poor test subject who didn't make it before the bricks re-solidified.

Sometimes he wished he'd never found that report.

He shook his legs out and imagined he could see his friends trapped on the other side of the wall when what he really saw was a barrier separating them.

He broke into a sprint towards the hub.

* * *

The state of the hub was difficult to describe to anyone who didn't see it firsthand, and the cameras showed only static, no record to compare experience to. A slow and steady wind was circulating, or should that be current? It caused books to flutter and smaller objects such as pens to roll across their desks. They never fell though, once they reached the edge they simply kept spinning, joining the other debris levitating calmly in orbit around the room.

The hub itself wasn't dark, but it wasn't entirely in focus either. Ianto felt as though he were in a dream; he had intended to hide in the shadows and observe whoever was there, but he saw no one, and as he came closer he seemed inexorably drawn in as though in a trance.

Myfanwy was loose, circling idly.

'I fear secrets are a dying trade.'

A man, at least Ianto thought it was a man, was in the centre of the hub. He hadn't been there a moment ago, yet the whole room seemed to flow towards him.

Ianto found his voice as if from a distance. 'Keep your secrets; leave Torchwood and we won't expose you.'

'Expose us? You don't even know what we are.'

The man disappeared. In his place was a dark mass. Ianto thought he saw limbs, lots of limbs.

'Cimmerians.'

'That's your name for us. We prefer to think of ourselves as simply The Collectors, harder to pin down that way.'

'Like The Doctor.' Ianto spoke without thinking, and while the creature seemed not to respond directly a pen fell out of the air in front of him.

'To speak its true name is to identify something to your god. We are not the only race who chooses to keep Him in the dark.'

They bring darkness. 'Are you hostile?'

The image flickered to that of another man so briefly Ianto couldn't be sure what he saw, and what he thought he saw was impossible. The creature seemed disarmed.

'What a question, you are either brave or stupid, or perhaps all humans are a mix of both.' Ianto couldn't be sure of this either, but it sounded, petulant, almost childlike, where before it had sounded wry and amused. The creature confused him, and as he looked, it seemed to grow darker.

'You knocked us out but you're letting me talk to you.'

'You are of no threat.'

'I'm sorry; we just want to learn about you. We want to open communication.'

Could aliens sigh? 'An understandable need from a lonely race. What is your name, human?'

'Ianto Jones.'

'Ianto Jones. We kept you in the dark. We do not harm other races, those are the parameters under which we operate, but we cannot communicate with you for long. Our races are not compatible. We distort your reality - does this not appear unreal to you?'

The room, not just the objects in it, didn't appear to be staying as still as it should.

'It would be - nice to learn more about your race through something other than artefacts, but we cannot stay in your world for long without warping it, and so we collect what we can and display it for all to see.'

'Display?'

Ianto felt he was indeed dreaming because for a second he felt sure that adorning one of the many limbs he saw a top hat.

'That's it? After all this mystery and reverence - you're a roadside attraction?'

The creature turned taciturn. 'Is that what you are, a freak show? We take great pride in our work.'

The dark creature was gone and in its place stood an old craftsman, protecting his beloved work, clearer than any of the others who'd stood there.

The old man, the dark creature, the ringmaster; they were all the Cimmerian. This thing didn't choose its image; he chose it by what he thought of it.

Looking at the dignified man in front of him he felt impertinent. The fact that this creature had invaded Torchwood seemed irrelevant when embodied by a man at least 40 years his senior. He chose how he saw it, and what he saw made him sympathetic.

'I'm sorry. I tend to feel like this place is mine when it belongs to everyone. I feel defensive over it, and you _are_ taking from us.' The old man bristled. 'But I think I understand. We, humans, have a history of stea- of taking things that aren't specifically ours so that everyone can enjoy them. We call them museums.'

The old man eyed him warily. Ianto caught one of the tourist office leaflets from the air and showed it to him. 'I think you'd like them.'

The old man softened.

'You call this place Torchwood? You keep secrets. We take them and lay them open, especially time elements. We can appreciate them on a level your kind may not.' He looked thoughtful, as though reading the air around him.

Ianto noticed the dissonance between their roles: _We keep them and you take them_.

_'_We are interested in the anomalies.'

'Anomalies?'

'I believe you call one - a dinosaur? Such an ancient creature, very beautiful.'

'Myfanwy?' Ianto asked weakly. 'What can you learn from her? She's a relic.' He winced inwardly at the slight.

_Sorry girl but you'll thank me in the long run._

'I would love to take them both but I'm tied by what you might call,' the man smiled mischievously, 'a sustainability clause. A difficult decision with time running thin.' The floating objects had begun to spin faster. 'One unique to your planet and the other simply unique...'

A unique time anomaly?

'I believe we would learn more from the other, simply not about your planet.'

Jack was the other anomaly.

'You can't have Jack.'

'Our mission is to bring back artefacts specific to the planets we visit but what we could learn from it...'

'From _him - _you can't have him!'

'I have learned much talking to you Ianto Jones. Quite enough that it should suffice if anyone wants to learn about present day Earth and humans, leaving us free to take the more unusual find.'

'Now hold on! I thought you said you didn't harm other races. If you know anything about him you'll know he won't go willingly.'

'Ah,' the mans eyes twinkled, 'but he's not strictly of your race.'

'If you take him you harm me – you harm us!'

He seemed unmoved.

Keeping secrets across time, Ianto thought fast.

'He's an anomaly because of the TARDIS. You can't have him; he already belongs to the Doctor.'

Was that a lie?

Did it matter if it worked?

The spinning objects slowed. The old man's face was unreadable, probably because Ianto didn't know what he should be seeing.

'I suppose,' he spoke deliberately, 'it is poor form to steal from a fellow collector.'

From what he knew of the Doctor, Ianto doubted he would see it that way. His instincts told him that the two had crossed paths before - he had a feeling the, 'parameters', the Cimmerians were operating under were not their own. He further doubted that taking people against their will was something the Doctor would allow and if this Cimmerian continued to flout that rule Ianto wasn't above threatening to tell on it.

The fact they had no way of contacting the Doctor would just have to be his secret.

The old man shook his head. He sounded tired. 'Sometimes secrets are too powerful. Sometimes, they keep you.'

Ianto knew there was more to that comment, just as he knew he would never learn the rest of it. For all he knew the alien before him was one of billions, just carrying out its day job. Everyone had their story.

The image shifted again, subtly, became younger, less kind. It appeared as his father.

Ianto thought of Lisa and the secrets he'd kept to save her, secrets that had hurt people. The secret of her death which he'd had to keep from his sister, the loneliness and grief causing him to turn to someone who understood-

If he hadn't kept that Icarus Experiment a secret until today he'd still be in that cell and Jack would be taken from him. No one was responsible for where he stood but him.

'No, I belong to me.'

'Then the choice is made.'

Myfanwy circled and came to land next to him. She'd become so docile since they'd found her, that was the first time he'd impressed Jack.

She nudged him, probably wanting food, but he chose to take it as a comforting gesture.

It was all a matter of perspective.

Did he see a traumatic injury or a life experience? Did he see an extinct animal or a mournful pet, looking at him with understanding in her eyes?

He supposed it was possible the Cimmerian took pity on him and sped up the moment to spare him too much pain, but he suspected the sense of simultaneous detachment and heightened awareness stemmed from something more basic. Time always seemed to speed up when you had a limited amount of it left.

He petted Myfanwy's beak. 'Goodbye girl.'

The old man smiled. Myfanwy flew to his side as if beckoned, and once there she settled into a calm sleep. The darkness which had been flowing around them swirled towards the old man. It seemed it should make an almighty sound but Ianto felt it rather than heard it, and he was caught in the wind it created, just able to stay standing as it whipped around him into the dark vortex the man was becoming. Myfanwy had disappeared and the last time he saw her she was sleeping soundly.

The Cimmerian smiled as the darkness flowed into him and began to envelop him.

His voice seemed to emanate from everywhere and nowhere as he delivered what may have been a parting message or a thinly veiled threat. Ianto had enough fondness towards the craftsman image to see it as the former, and closed his eyes as the darkness swirling around him rushed past with what should have been a deafening roar. As the Cimmerian's words resonated through him, the rush of darkness intensified and suddenly died.

He opened his eyes. The Hub was still. Myfanwy was gone.

_'It's best to let it go. Otherwise you can't survive.'_

* * *

'Johnny Weir.'

'Who?'

'Famous ice-skater.'

'How many times do I have to say it; if they were famous I would have heard of them.'

'I can't be held responsible if you never watch sports Owen!'

'Ice skating isn't a sport.'

Gwen laughed. 'Oh typical, start an age-old argument against men in costumes as athletes just because you're not man enough to pull it off yourself _and_ you can't think of a W.'

The pipe dripped again.

'Walt Disney.'

'Douglas Adams,' chirped Tosh.

Was Ianto okay? Was he alive? What could possibly be taking so long? Jack's watch had stopped but his time-keeping was fairly accurate and it had been at least 4 hours and they were still trapped here, which couldn't bode well for-

'Audrey Hepburn.'

'Nice one Jack.'

_Drip, drip._

'Jack,' asked Gwen, 'what do we do if he doesn't come back?'

_I have to get that pipe fixed._

'Hunter S. Thompson,' said Owen lazily.

A heavy crunching sound signalled the entryway to the cells opening. When nobody passed out immediately Jack stood up, prepared to face the worst on his feet. His own death meant little to him but if he was about to hear what he feared, he would do it looking the bastards in the eye.

'Thomas Edison,' announced a welsh voice that wasn't Gwen's.

'Ianto!'

'Mate I will never call you tea-boy again if you get me out of here!'

'I'll free you last then while I think of a few other conditions.'

'Are they gone?'

'What happened?'

'You'd better let me out now tea-boy!'

Ianto appeared in front of Jack's cell. Quite without realising, Jack had sat down when he'd heard his voice.

Ianto looked slightly sheepish. 'They're not coming back, they never wanted to harm us, they were just making an archive of their own.'

'You mean they're thieves?' Jack fixed Ianto in his gaze. He didn't bother standing up and said so that only Ianto could hear. 'I want that Icarus technology out of the cells and on my desk,' Ianto popped the lock. 'Right away sir,' he agreed just as discreetly, then to the room at large: 'They don't see it as stealing, just preserving things they love.'

Jack stood up.

'Well we all do stupid things when we're in love,' he said.

'So you stopped them? They didn't get anything?'

Ianto swallowed. 'There is one thing...'

* * *

They made their way to the main body of the hub. Unseen to the others Jack had pressed one soft kiss to his hair when he told them about Myfanwy. He'd seemed sad.

Ianto hadn't told them the Cimmerians had wanted Jack, only that he'd sacrificed the pterodactyl to save Torchwood and its team. He'd left the details deliberately vague; the encounter had been so dreamlike anyway.

He took the combination of orders and sympathy from Jack to mean that heroics cancelled out year old transgressions. Just.

The floor of the hub was covered with detritus, like it had been hit with the after-shocks of some distant earthquake. Jack headed up to his office while Gwen picked her way through to her desk. Owen picked up a fallen canned drink and opened it experimentally, taking a deep swig when it didn't explode over him. Everything was quite still.

Tosh cornered Ianto. 'Ianto I'm sorry. I know you were close to Myfanwy.'

Ianto nodded. Myfanwy was a part of who he used to be.

Owen scoffed. 'It was just a bloody great bird.'

'No she wasn't', said Jack from above them. He was looking down wistfully.

Ianto smiled at Tosh. 'I think Owen needs your sympathy more. He obviously can't handle losing anything.'

He looked up towards Jack's office, half wanting to go and apologise, half to comfort him as he knew Jack was as attached to Myfanwy as he was, if not more.

Owen was kicking the office debris out of his way. Whether consciously or not the others were expecting him to clear it up. In their eyes he was back to his normal role. He knew he probably would clear it all up later, it was in his nature.

He turned away and walked towards the cells to dismantle his get-out-of-jail-free card, clearing up his own mess before he worried about anyone else's.

* * *

**A/N:** As I am not affiliated with or making profit from Torchwood I am not affiliated with or making profit from the celebrity name game, Johnny Weir, Walt Disney, Douglas Adams, Audrey Hepburn, Hunter S. Thompson and Thomas Edison, except in the sense that I take vast enjoyment in putting those people together in one sentence.


	6. Chapter 6

**Epilogue**

Jack observed Ianto from across his desk. His desk was littered with case reports. The Cimmerian report, now completed and ready to be archived once again, sat atop the pile, the most recent to be completed but by no means the most recent to take place. For every report completed there were a greater number ongoing, each filtering into their lives in a way that refused to be neatly filed but which demanded it anyway.

Jack found he didn't mind paperwork so much these days. It was easier to keep your focus when you knew what you wanted.

Ianto had no memory of being with the Cimmerian, (Cimmerians?), for as long as 4 hours. Either he was prone to traumatic encounters with other species, or the Cimmerians manipulation of time was more prominent than they had thought. He didn't appear to be injured, or overly upset, so Jack chose to see it as the latter. He had no way of checking; the security footage showed only static.

Ianto smiled at him sweetly. It made him seem, not younger, that wasn't right - lighter. It contrasted sharply but not unpleasantly with how overwhelmed Jack felt now. He was at a loss for words, and didn't trust himself to speak.

He had looked at the object Ianto had placed on top of the Cimmerian case report until he realised what it was. He had been looking at Ianto for significantly longer. He tried to tell himself it was because he had been staring for too long that his eyes shone brightly now.

He'd missed Myfanwy. She was a relic, like him. It wasn't that he wanted to go back to how things were in the past. His past was a part of him and always would be, but it didn't define him. Any lover of Jack's would tell you the period clothing and fondness for old films belied a man who could be more totally and passionately in the moment than most people of modern appearances.

Ianto wasn't just any lover though, and he knew that what was important about your past was what you took from it just as much as what you left behind. As long as you moved on, it was okay to look back sometimes.

Ianto nudged Jack's feet apart with his own. His eyebrows rose, making the smile suggestive.

Jack suddenly moved from behind his desk and was kissing him before either realised he'd moved. For a moment he pulled away and they both smiled, thankful and hopeful, then they moved together towards Jack's bedroom.

Maybe he didn't know what to say, but he trusted his instincts would show him what to do.

The case reports would still be there in the morning, kept still by a small silver paperweight in the mould of a pterodactyl.

* * *

**A/N**: Thank you so much to everyone who has read this, and especially to all who have reviewed. Feedback is more than appreciated and thank you again.


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